


Beautiful fool

by fukmylyf



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: All the time, Angst, Basically Nick being an angsty baby, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No one can mess with Gatsby, Poor Nick, and Gatsbys this big force of nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fukmylyf/pseuds/fukmylyf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i don't know, i was bored and my brain barfed this out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful fool

I've never been terribly certain what sparked it at all. I suppose it was simply a gradual development of mutual appreciation of the male form, to the point that I was, shall we say, rather involved with Gatsby and if anybody harbored enough suspicion to puzzle us about it, he'd brush it off as us simply being incredibly close friends.

Of course, it was a little bit harder for me to ignore the feelings that had been rooting themselves within me, and the more Gatsby denied it, the stronger it grew. I understood why he so adamantly stood against any semblance of our rather unromantic relationship leaking out; poofs aren't typically treated with much remorse, and as comfortable as he might've been with other illegal activities, this was one that was less kindly received.

"Something on your mind, old sport?"

I turned and smiled. "Nothing for you to worry yourself about, Jay."

He frowned that perfect little frown that had me thinking he'd take the moon down from the sky if it had any possibility of improving my mood. "Anything bothering you is something I feel obliged to worry about, Nick," he murmured, taking me into his arms. I sighed.

“Sometimes I wonder how you really feel about me,” I confessed, because as much as I loved him, I could never be sure if the feeling was mutual. He was like a piece of ash in the wind sometimes, drifting this way and that, and as soon as I thought he had made up his mind, as soon as he lingered in one spot and I’d thought I’d finally solved the mystery that he was, he was whisked off again.

He brought my face up from where it was tucked in his shoulder to face him. I kept my gaze level, or tried to, at least. His eyes were difficult to look away from, that rich, pale blue, like warm ice.

“You know how I feel about you, old sport,” he murmured. I wrenched my eyes away from his and pushed lightly against his chest.

“I don’t know, Jay, or it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place,” I grumbled. He looked surprised I’d spoken at all.

“Nick, old sport, listen here-”

“No, Jay, I don’t want to, not when you’re toying with my emotions like this.”

He froze. “Nick, if this is about-”

“Don’t say her name. You said it last night again, and I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

He looked genuinely hurt. “Nick, I’ve told you, I’m sorry. I’m trying to move on, you see, and-”

“If you’re trying to move on, then tell me you don’t love her.”

“That’s not fair, old sport, you know I still-”

“Brilliant, then! In that case, you can find someone else who looks more like her, or is that the only reason you saw me as a fitting substitute at all?”

Something in his eyes changed. They grew colder, harder, for just a moment, and he looked ready to kill me. I stepped back further, feeling the sharp edge of the window sill against my back. His window sill. His house. We’d moved out together after Wilson nearly put a bullet through his chest, nearly, because I’d been there, having called in sick at work. I’d pushed him out of the way, nearly missing the bullet between my eyes as I’d jumped into the water after him. Wilson fired another shot, but both of us came up alive, in one piece, and Gatsby had kissed me as Wilson’s body bled out in the bushes.

We were in Canada now, Quebec, his choice, not mine. Never mine. I did everything for that man. I would’ve jumped off a cliff if he asked me to.

Gatsby’s hands found my shoulders and he pulled me aggressively towards him, pinning me against him in a suffocating grip. I pushed against his arms, desperately trying to break free, but he obviously wasn’t having any part of it.

“Please, listen to me,” he growled. I pushed against him.

“Let me go, and I’ll consider it,” I yelled. He huffed and pressed a kiss against my mouth, rougher than I was used to.

“I love you, old sport.” He seemed to mean it, and I was inclined to believe him. “Not Daisy, not anymore. After everything, I fell in love with the idea of her, not her. She’s not the same as when I knew her, and I never knew her all that well after all.” He finished with another kiss, this time lighter, gentler. “I’m terribly sorry for pulling you this way and that, Nick, because I never meant to.”

“If you don’t love her anymore,” I started, rather overcome by Gatsby’s actions and unsure of how to react to the affection he was showing me. “Why do you still call her name when we’re together?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Nick, I don’t. But I love you, understand?”

I nodded and kissed him. “I love you, too, you beautiful fool.”

 


End file.
